We disembarked, leaving the bags to the dockhands, and headed down the dock towards a row of Jeeps, each with a driver, waiting for us on the white-shelled road. The young family bundled their kids into a jeep with the nanny and took another for themselves, giggling and nuzzling at one another in the backseat. The two middle-aged couples each settled into their vehicles, the wives still sipping at the cocktail glasses they’d brought from the ferry. I took the last Jeep in line, the driver jumping out to help me up into the seat. I looked around for the blonde-haired girl and saw her struggling down the dock with a heavy designer suitcase bumping along behind her. Before I could offer to share the jeep with her, we took off down the road, the tires crunched over the shell and the salt-tinged wind tangled in my ponytail.
In less than five minutes, we were pulling up to the front of the resort. The entire island seemed to be made of shades of blue, green, and white with bright splashes of pink and red flowers sprinkled in. The resort was only two stories but it had wide balconies and arched doors that welcomed the sea breezes. We drove up under a large porte-cochere that shielded us from the midday sun to find another set of smiling, welcoming faces with large trays of drinks waiting on us. Drinking, it seemed, was something of a competitive sport among the wealthy.
In no time, I was swept through an open-air marble lobby, down a cool, shaded hallway with glimpses of blue ocean and sky from each window and into my suite for the next two weeks. I expected a standard hotel room with two beds, a bathroom, and a coffee maker. Maybe a balcony. Instead, I found myself in a one-bedroom suite with a full kitchen area, exotic fruit basket included, a balcony overlooking the white sand beach and swaying palm trees, and a king-size bed made up with the softest pale blue duvet and a pile of luxurious pillows thick enough to sink a ship in. When the porter showed me the bathroom and the pool sized soaking tub, I was tempted to ask him if he was joking.
When we returned to the main room, my one lonely, shabby suitcase was sitting in the entryway. The porter rolled it into the bedroom and asked if I want someone to unpack for me. Say what? People really do that?
I politely declined, and he left me with information brochures and a spinning head.
I wandered through the rooms, trailing my fingers across everything I passed. The furniture was heavy and well-made, not an Ikea shelf in sight. The linens were silky and smooth, the towels fluffy as kittens, and everything smelled fresh and clean in a light, natural way. I’d never seen or smelled, anything like it before. I decided I had to get out of the room.
I followed the hallway down the opposite way of when I was led in and found a set of stairs spiraling down into a verdant garden, lush with greenery. I could hear splashes and laughter coming from the other side, so I followed a path through flowers heavy with scent and found a pool. The pool seemed to meet the ocean, the waters blending perfectly with each other. A fountain sprayed up from the center and a bar with a thatched roof sat at the far end. Individual cabanas lined two sides, keeping the guests safely cocooned in their own space. And for the people for whom walking was a chore on vacation, there were cocktail waiters wandering with their trays, fetching drinks and appetizers from the bar.
No sooner had I dropped onto a nearby lounge chair than one of the waiters was at my side, asking me what he could get for me.
“Just a water, please,” I said. I looked after him when he walked toward the bar, noting that there were very few guests around. Maybe fifteen people at the most. There seemed to be an employee for every guest. Across the pool, I saw the two couples from earlier, getting massages in their cabanas, tropical cocktails at their fingertips. A woman in a bikini so small it appeared to be made of nothing but strings of thread tottered past me in stiletto platforms, her throat draped in ropes of pearls, gold bangles stacked up her arms and a thin gold rope looped around her toned waist with a thumb-sized diamond charm that nestled against her belly button. I could pay my rent for two years with the jewelry this woman was casually wearing poolside.
The waiter returned and handed me a bottle of water. I cracked the top open and stopped before I took a sip, reading the label. Water infused with crystals. I couldn’t roll my eyes hard enough. I set the bottle down and stood, looking for a path away from the pool. I spotted an opening heading into a jungle-like area at the other end and made my way past the cabanas as I looked for a path. I tried to keep my eyes averted but I couldn’t help but see what I knew was a twenty-five-thousand-dollar handbag being used as a beach bag, and the thick gold watch a barrel-chested man dropped indifferently onto his chair before diving into the pool. The purely hedonistic decadence was too much for me. I burst out of the pool area and ran down the jungle path, into the cool shade of the trees before I stopped.
What was I doing here? This wasn’t the place for me. I was firmly against the type of material excess this place was rampant with and the kind of people who thought it was okay to live this way while other people starve. That handbag by the pool alone could have sustained me for a couple of years.
I wandered further down the jungle path, the air still, scented with the ocean. I thought I should go back to my suite, see if I could arrange for a ferry back to Barbados, exchange my first-class plane ticket for one in coach, and go back to Chicago. I needed to figure out a way to pay my tuition or when classes started back after winter break, I wouldn’t be in them. Coming here was a mistake.
As I turned to head back towards the pool, a glint along the edge of the path caught my attention. At first, I thought it was some sort of exotic Caribbean insect, it wouldn’t have surprised me to find out that the bugs at this resort glittered, but when I bent to inspect it, I saw the bills.
It was a money clip, platinum inlaid with a design of diamonds around the edge, and fat with bills. When I picked it up, they crinkled the way new bills do and when I flicked at the edges, they all appeared to be hundreds. My heart thudded into my throat. I looked around, trying to see if I could spot anyone who may have dropped it. I was the only person on the path.
Without thinking, I shoved the clip into the pocket of my shorts and ran back down the path, past the pool, and up the stairs to my room. I shoved through the door, making sure to lock it behind me, stumbling through to the bedroom. I dropped onto the bed and pulled the clip out of my pocket. A quick shuffle through the bills left me stunned. Fifteen thousand dollars. I found fifteen thousand dollars laying on the edge of a path in the Caribbean. Surely it was a sign.
I ruffled my fingers through the bills until the sun started to set. That money could have paid up my tuition for the year, covered my books and almost half my rent with a few dollars left over for a decent meal. It could have taken away the stress that ate at my belly every single day for the past six months. And I bet it wouldn’t even have been missed by whoever dropped. I was on an island with people who wouldn’t blink at dropping that fifteen thousand on a pair of shoes or a new purse.
But I wasn’t that kind of person. I was poor, but I was honest. I sighed heavily as I stacked the bills together neatly and slid then back into the clip. The clip alone was probably worth more than I made in a year. Maybe I could just return the money…
No. I didn’t have much, but I had my integrity. Damned, broke ass integrity. I crammed the money into my bag and headed down to the lobby to find security before I changed my mind.
CHAPTER 2
ERIC
A tightbodied cocktail waitress in tiny white shorts sashayed toward me with another drink. The cocktail was a bright, unnatural shade of blue, the rim of the sweating glass bedecked with tropical fruits and candied cherries. It balanced in the middle of her tray like a beacon. It was almost as gorgeous as the mocha-skinned lovely carrying it.
She stopped at the entrance to my beach cabana, her shadow falling over me as I reclined on a beach chair, polishing off the last of the drink in my hand. The waitress deposited my fresh drink on a small table with a smile and gathered up the four other glasses before sashaying off again. I watched
her hips sway out of sight before turning back to my drink.
I’d been in the beach cabana since sometime this morning, drinking one tropical drink after another, watching the waves lap at the glittering sand and the gulls dip into the turquoise water for their lunch. I, myself, had decided on a liquid lunch. And breakfast. And quite possibly supper as well.
There was a reason for me being half-pissed on the beach by early afternoon: the Lady Portia Thistlewaite, London socialite, heiress to Thistlewaite Manor, philanthropist, world traveler, school chum of the Princesses of York, and all-around heinous, cheating bitch. Sipping on my drink, I suddenly realized it’s the same color as Portia’s eyes. When the waitress came back I’d make sure to ask for something in a different color.
Portia, that beautiful whore. She was my fiancée. Until I walked in on her banging her gay best friend. So, yes, that actually happened. I’d known her my entire life. We grew up together, spent weekends in the country with our families, attended the same nursery school, and our fathers were best friends. It was pretty much a given that we’d marry. I don’t ever remember questioning that fact. Until I saw her with her blue-blooded ass in the air getting drilled by the guy she said was helping her pick out her wedding dress.
Now, she’s run off back to London and I was considering changing my mobile numbers. She called and called, leaving message after message, begging me to take her back. After I had my solicitor do a bit of digging, I knew why. After years of mismanagement, practically all her family had left was their name. My former precious bride-to-be was nothing but a gold-digging whore. All she wanted was the Godfrey money.
So, now I was here, at Diamond Cove. And had been for over a fortnight now. I spent my days drowning my sorrows in sickeningly sweet concoctions and my nights tossing in the king-sized bed in my king-sized luxury villa. It was a lovely little island, isolated, private, and the staff was discreet when they found you passed out face down on the beach.
I sucked my drink down to the ice and waved for the waitress again just as my phone dinged. I fished it out of my pocket and looked at the screen. Portia. I tapped the reject button, sending her call to voicemail. And, making a quick decision before I could change my mind, I blocked her number. There, done. Now I didn’t have to worry about seeing her name on my mobile screen any more. The waitress sauntered up again, white shorts hugging the curve of her hips. She gave me a sultry smile and asked if I need anything. As I ordered another drink, I couldn’t help but feel like the waitress was nothing but another version of Portia. A beautiful package hiding a black, money-grubbing heart. All women wanted was a husband to fund their shopping trips and lunches. From now on, if I wanted a woman I’d just knock out all the nonsense and go straight for a prostitute. At least it would be more honest that way.
I STUMBLED BACK toward my villa and found the door ajar. When I walked in, a cute blonde in a maid’s uniform was sitting on the sofa.
“Excuse me, aren’t you supposed to be…cleaning something?” I raised an eyebrow at her.
She huffed an exasperated sigh as she stood. “Yeah, okay. Um, like, do you need some towels or something…” her voice trailed off as she recognized me. Of course, she did, I was a regular fixture in the society pages and tabloids with Portia. When I called off our wedding, it made the front pages of all the papers.
Her attitude changed from sulky to sultry in an instant. She glided over, her blonde hair in a high, bouncy ponytail, and flicked an imaginary piece of lint from my shirt before smoothing the collar down, her fingers lingering on my neck. “Let me know if I can do anything for you,” she purred.
“Get out,” I spat at her.
“What?” She stepped back, confused. No doubt she’d never had a man reject her advances before. Neither had Portia.
“Get out and tell your supervisor to find another maid to service my rooms.”
She scrambled out the door and I slammed it behind her. I was right though, all women are the same. I decided that I’d rather eat alone than face the money-hungry females who might be stalking around the resort's restaurants, so I made a call to room service and placed my order.
When the room service attendant knocked, I opened the door to let him in. The smell of grilled steak and lobster wafted through the room and made my stomach rumble. It had been awhile since I’d had anything but alcohol. I waved the attendant towards the dining table and searched my pockets for my wallet so I could give him a tip. It wasn’t there. I checked my bedside table and the pants I’d worn the day before. Nothing.
I apologized to the attendant, promising him a double tip as soon as I located my wallet and sent him back to the kitchens. I spent the next half-hour searching the villa for my wallet. My steak and lobster were cold now and I was spitting mad. Someone had stolen my wallet. In a resort full of billionaires someone walked off with a wallet containing a mere fifteen thousand dollars.
I finally give up and placed a call to security, leaving a message on their answering service. When I finally sat down to eat, the butter had congealed and the grilled vegetables were cold. I settled for a crystal tumbler of bourbon instead.
WHEN I WOKE up the next morning, I still hadn’t heard from security. Ridiculous for a place like Diamond Cove. How much crime could they possibly have on this island? I threw on some clothes and headed off to the security office to report my missing wallet and money.
Jacob Porter, head of security, ushered me into his office. He was a big man and with his shaved head he was a little more than intimidating. I’d known Jacob for several years though and he was one of the nicest men you could ever meet.
“Lord Godfrey, great to see you again,” he boomed and folded my hand into his large fist.
“Thank you, Jacob, how are those beautiful children of yours?”
“Growing like weeds. What can I do for you?” he asked.
“Well, it appears my wallet is missing. And with it, fifteen-thousand dollars.”
Jacob’s face clouded over. I knew he took pride in keeping Diamond Cove a crime-free paradise. All the employees were carefully vetted and the guests were some of the richest in the world. Theft was simply something that didn’t happen here.
“Are you sure? Perhaps I can send someone to help you search your villa again? And I can have housekeeping check the bins and laundry.” He was searching for an answer that didn’t end with a thief on the island.
“I’ve checked my rooms from top to bottom and I haven’t sent out laundry in three days. I know I had it yesterday morning.”
Jacob nodded, his face thoughtful.
“I have to ask,” I said to him, “is there anyone on the island who wouldn’t, ah, normally be here?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Just, is there anyone who…isn’t like your average Diamond Cove guest?”
“Ah,” he said as it dawned on him what I was asking. I thought I saw a faint flicker of disgust in his eyes but if there was, it was gone instantly as he slipped quickly back into his professional mode. “We have a new housekeeper, Tessa Jordan. She’s got a job here as a favor to her father. Believe me, she could definitely afford to be a guest. We also have a couple of contest winners on property at the moment.”
“Well, there you go. It must be one of them.” I was ready to locate and start questioning them immediately.
“Now, hang on, Lord Godfrey, just because a couple of the guests aren’t billionaires doesn’t mean they stole your wallet!” Jacob was bristling and I realized I must have insulted him. After all, he wasn’t a billionaire.
“Who else would?” I couldn’t stop myself from saying it. None of the regular guests would have had a reason to steal my wallet.
Before Jacob could answer me, a light knocking on the door interrupted us. I turned around and found the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen standing in the door to the security office. She was tall and curvy and her long, toned legs were lightly tanned. Her hair was thick and wavy, chocolate colored with gold streaks glint
ing through the waves. She had pulled it up to try and fight the island humidity, but small tendrils were curling around her cheeks, drawing attention to her amazing amber eyes, thickly lashed and with the same gold glints that decorated her hair. I was so taken with this golden creature that it took me a moment to realize what was in her hand. My wallet.
I jumped up and snatched it from her hand. “Where did you get my wallet?”
Confusion crossed her face. “I found it, on one of the paths near the pool.”
“What took you so long to return it?” I demanded. My eyes swept over her and I realized that despite her obvious attractiveness, she must have been one of the contest winners. Her clothes looked cheap and her shoes appeared to be made of plastic.
“I…” her voice trailed off as she saw me taking in her clothing.
Jacob jumped in to help her. “I’m sure she didn’t mean any harm. She’s returned the wallet.” He turned to her, “Miss Tate, isn’t it? I hope you’re enjoying your stay here. Thank you for returning Lord Godfrey’s wallet.” He gave me a pointed look.
I shoved the wallet into my pocket. “Yes, thank you.” Maybe I was a bit hasty but I still thought she took a long time to return it. It had been missing since yesterday. Still, I was nothing if not polite.
“Miss Tate, was it? Again, thank you for finding my wallet. Would you care to join me for a drink so I might express my gratitude?” I gave her my mega-watt charity event smile.
It got them every time.
Tropical Tryst: 25 All New and Exclusive Sexy Reads Page 114